A Crown For Kings: Book One of A House of Blood and Fire
by FictionUniverse
Summary: A sellsword is made a lord. A boy declares himself king as he attempts to restore his house to its former glory. A prince battles his inner demons as he is neglected by his royal family. This is an epic tale where wars are fought, families are tested, and men plot against each other, all so they may wear the ultimate prize. But this is no normal crown. This is a crown for kings.
1. Prologue

**P**rologue

The letter from the Hand arrived on 5th half-moon of the new cycle. The summer, it was said by many, was soon to come to an end, but it did not feel it on the Kingsroad just a day's ride from Harrenhal. The rider handed him the letter, bearing the king's own seal, unbroken. The contents of the letter commanded him to ride north to a recently un-abandoned keep that had been claimed by slavers, south of the Twins and nestled nicely in between the Blue Fork and the Trident. This man was somewhat of a legend, amongst other sellswords at least. He would do work where work was there to be paid, and he was renowned for his nightly operations, getting a dirty job over quick and done before the moon had moved much at all. The Butcher of the Night, they had come to call him. Many called him an unofficial lord, having over two hundred lesser swords behind him. He sipped his ale quiet, as a gentleman, as he re-read the letter. Once, the crown had put out a reward for his head, with no care as to whether it was still attached to his body. In return he had personally rode to King's Landing and presented King Robert with the heads of those who had attempted to collect the bounty. The drunken king had guffawed at the sight, and said that any man with half the balls he had, ought to be treated with more respect by the realm. Since then he had been a fixer of sorts for the king and his Hand. Over thirty assignments during the past two years had been given to him by the royal court. He smirked now at the thoughts and memories. Despite the somewhat dark times most of what he remembered rather amused him. He slept that night thinking of the crown's newest command.

The following morning, when he broke his fast, he had decently simmered bacon with eggs well browned and a hot mug of brown ale, with a random assortment of vegetables. He ate slowly, chewing each bite slowly and thoughtfully, savoring the delicious flavors for as long as was possible before the food turned to mush in his mouth. He paid several extra silver coins in complement for the nicely kept inn and set out riding to meet his two hundred swords and the other hundred the Hand had said would be joining forces with them. The sun was nearly at its peak when he crested the hill and pulled to a stop, viewing the semi-permanent encampment below. He heard a hunting horn blow and to his left a party returned from the forest, fifty strong he counted. They charged down the hillside no more than two hundred meters away from him and sped through the camp, showing off their prizes. Three plump juvenile rabbits, five slightly scrawny flightless birds, and fully grown stag, light brown with black specks decorating its bloodstained coat. The beast was so big it had to be dragged behind two of the bigger horses in the group. He stared in mild amazement at the size of the thing, wondering how many men it had taken to kill it. He nudged his horse into a trot and made his way down the hill to the center of the camp, where the largest tent was erected primarily for battle strategy and council meetings. His war council was comprised of five of his most trusted swords, each of whom led a division of around forty men. So was the organization of his force. He arrived and dismounted, handing the horse over to one of the squires that acted as guards to the council. Entering the tent, he found them already assembled, mediating a dispute between several of the soldiers. Upon noticing his entrance they broke off the negotiation and welcomed him back with handshakes and smiles. Since he was not technically a lord, they were not his to command as such, so in an understanding amongst them, everyone in the camp were equals, and had agreed to the dividing of the men, and more importantly, they all held their commander in the highest of regards.

"Whatever it is you are discussing, it now has little importance." He held up the letter. "Our newest assignment from the Hand." He dismissed the men who had been quarreling from the tent, and handed the letter around for everyone to read.

"I assume you already have a plan," the first man to his right said, looking expectantly at him. He was the first of his captains to join him, and was perhaps the closest to a friend he had ever come. He had thick, dark-amber hair that reminded him of honey, and sky-blue eyes. He stood as tall as his commander, about 2 meters high, and he served as second in the command chain amongst the six of them. "Part of one," he replied. "I haven't seen this keep before, so we will need to arrive before anything is certain, but I would assume since it was, until recently, abandoned, that there is likely a weakness in the walls that we can take advantage of."

"Fair enough," said the first man to his left. He was three years his commander's senior, but looked much older than his years. With much less experience in the art of battle, he had come into the growing company when they had swooped in during a skirmish with a hill tribe and narrowly saved the man's men. He stood half a head shorter than his superior as well, with little hair on his head. What was there was trying to remain yellow like the sun, but was failing, badly. His voice was coarse, like several riverstones grinding together, yet it had a certain smoothness to its edge that made him seem both powerful and calm all at once. "When do we ride?" Everyone turned their attention to the map, and quickly established that they were a three day's ride from the stronghold. "We pack our things tonight, sleep here, and at dawn we pack the tents and begin the march. The garrison from King's Landing should arrive about when we depart, seeing as the letter came from a rider sent ahead from the group, already on the march. Have the horses prepared by dusk. It should be no fun to ready them on the morrow." The council nodded and departed to command their divisions to do as he had said. They slept in empty tents, all their things packed, and at dawn the horn blew to awaken them all. He woke with a strange surge of energy, a combination of excitement and concern that gripped him every time they set out on a mission. The men packed their own tents first, with help from the twenty or so squires that were present in the company, and then proceeded to assist their fellow men. By the time the bottom of the sun no longer touched the horizon, all the horses were saddled and everyone's possessions were ready for the march. They set out in their divisions, with the captains at the front, for the Kingsroad, traveling in a diagonal direction that both brought them closer to their destination and the road. When they were in view of road, they spotted the hundred men sent by the Hand. The man who led them had black hair about the length a man would have it cut, and he named himself as Ser Hugo Flint. The new arrivals fell in to formation with his men and they rode until the sun touched the horizon on the other side of the sky, stopping only twice for the horses to rest for a short while. They made camp right there, not ten meters from the Kingsroad. At dawn the watchman sounded the horn and they packed their tents and rode like the day before. So was their orderly routine for the three days it took them to march north to their destination.

They came within sight of the stronghold at dusk on the third day, as they had expected. They made their camp at the edge of the woods, several miles from the Kingsroad, and observed the keep from a distance, lighting no fires. Scouts were sent out to find a suitable place to ford the river, but they returned with news that the slavers had already done so, and had not had the sense to destroy the bridge behind them. Having gorged themselves at high noon, nobody felt the urge to eat. The council met on a small hill with several bushes and trees as cover, and studied the place for some time. The men in the stronghold were not shy about making their presence known, as lights glimmered all over, like fireflies standing still. Three guards patrolled the outer walls, but paid little attention to any activity they may have noticed anywhere. The castle was not as rundown as they might have expected from having been abandoned for so long. It had a high circular causeway at the top with many archer posts, and the level below that was a high walkway arched over a gate, with even more archer nooks. Several wide towers were attached to the side, and scouts reported that a small village lay on the other side, encircled by a set of smaller walls. The forest was primarily to the east, and lay mostly on the far side of the water. The south-to-west-to-north was mostly open fields, slightly marshy from the duel rivers that ran abreast of the keep about two thousand meters from the walls. The open fields were likely to keep attacking armies in open view of the archer towers, as the forest seemed to be intentionally kept back. When questioned as to whether there were any penetrable spots in the walls, one of the scouts replied, "It is too well kept. We will not be entering by any means other than through the gate, or over the walls."

"Damn the walls," he swore under his breath. Gathering his thoughts, he considered the situation, the stronghold, and the men inside it. "If they have but three guardsmen, they must either be exceedingly stupid or have very few men. I would guess the former." The captains considered what he said for a moment and concurred. "So, if they are stupid enough to post only three guards, they must not expect anyone to be coming for them. Therefore, if we were to create a commotion, say, a bonfire, they may think to come investigate." The captains nodded, warily, he noticed. It was a plan based on a gamble, but he knew people well, and he knew battle and strategy better. "They would likely leave through the front gate to investigate, so if we garrison a division there to finish them and enter through the gate, preferably unseen, then we gain control of the entrance. The division that enters ensures that the gate remains lowered, while three others enter behind them with Ser Hugo's men as well, and then we sweep the castle and simply eliminate the rest of the slavers as swiftly as we can." His captains seemed to grow more confident in the plan as he filled more of it in, and by the time he finished they nodded, grinning and eager to begin. "Very well," he said, grinning himself, "Assemble the men. We must be in before the moon has risen. One division must remain behind to defend the camp and build the fire." They left the hill and returned to the camp, and by the time the moon was just peeking over the horizon, the bonfire was constructed, and the first division had snuck to the base of the castle walls, not surprisingly unseen. He led the first party, with its captain beside him, and waited until the fire was lit up, blazing just 20 meters from the forest. At first, nothing happened for what seemed like a good long while, but finally the gate came up and five men in normal clothes exited the keep, wearing no armor, and making no noise as their throats were slit with their mouths covered.

The division moved deftly and quietly into the stronghold, and found the gatekeeper, another slaver who met the same fate as the others. As they pressed on deeper into the stronghold, the other divisions entered silently behind them. They found stairs to the right as the moved down the hallway, and so they began purging the castle of the slavers. The first several flights of stairs and the corresponding hallways and levels yielded nobody. On the fifth level they encountered two men simply wandering about. One cried out, but was interrupted by the dagger that lodged itself in his mouth, thrown from the other end of the hall, and the other began running. Not knowing their way around the keep, giving chase proved difficult. The man made them run all the way to the top, up a countless number of stairs. They did not run in to anyone else, but that proved to be because the slaver had assembled everyone he had run in to on his way up. Upon reaching the top level, an arrow caught one of their soldiers in the leg as he turned a corner, and a second arrow found its way in between the hard leather chestplate of a second soldier, piercing him through the heart and killing him instantly. The rest of the men in the party stopped, looking to their commander for instruction. He thought for a moment, then instructed them to unhinge the doors that they had passed on the level below. It took longer than he would have liked, but once it was done, several men held up two doors in front of the group, taking up most of the hallway's width, and the division charged into the arrows, and upon reaching the slavers, the doors were thrown on top of them, and the men in front began hacking at those that were caught underneath. The ones who weren't, however, ran back to the archer balconies. The following battle was several minutes long. The commander pushed his way to the front and began dueling on the left side, knocking one blow to the left, then drawing the slavers sword to the right, where he grabbed his hand and smashed it into the stone. The slaver dropped his sword right over the edge, and just moments later his head followed the sword to the ground, which seemed very far away. The man behind him lunged straight at the commander, who ducked to the side and grabbed the slaver's head, holding him still while he drew a dagger across his throat. The third man was quick behind him, grabbing the commander by the hair and shoving him in to the wall. Slightly dazed, he looked up and parried a blow that came down on him from above. He snatched his dagger from in between the slaver's legs and drove it straight up in between the man's legs. The sound that came out of his mouth sounded like a girl's scream and a wolf's howl had a monstrous child and drowned it in the sea. He pulled the dagger out and then kicked upwards, hard, into where it had been. The slaver didn't jump so much as twitch upwards and over the side. Another slaver fell onto the ground next to him, but a swift stab with the dagger into the side of the slaver's neck finished him. The fifth and final slaver he fought charged stupidly at him, so he merely turned, back against the castle, and swung down, chopping off the man's hand, and then shoved the hand's former owner over the battlements and listened to his cries grow fainter by the second, until an echoing _THUD_ ended them. When he turned back around, he had lost two more men, but all the slavers were dead, and one man was missing an ear, and another was stabbed through the leg. They proceeded to carry the wounded back down the stairs, slowly, and when they reached the ground floor once again, they left them with several guards to see to their wounds. By now the slavers must have known they were under attack, because steel clashed and clanged against steel several floors below, heard only because of doors left open. The biggest battle was ensuing in the dining hall, where tables had been overturned and bowmen fired relentlessly at the doorway. The commander merely instructed them to wait until they ran out of arrows, and once they did, which was soon enough, the two divisions camped outside the doors charged in, and the seven slavers fell almost instantly, putting up no fight at all as they scrambled for their swords. The final slavers were reportedly holed up in some lower level dungeon, but when the commander went to investigate he found it was a dungeon converted to something much more unpleasant. Only three slavers remained, but they had several girls with knives to their throats.

"One more step, and these three bleed early," said the one in the middle. He was a sight for sore eyes, several teeth were broken or gone completely, and what teeth that remained were yellow and crooked. The commander smirked, and deftly, smoothly, pulled a knife from its sheath on his leg and flung it at the slaver's hand. He cried as it buried itself in his wrist, and he immediately lost all control of his hand. As the other two slavers stared in amazement at their bleeding companion, two archers felled them, an arrow in each of their eyes.

"I don't take kindly to threats," the commander said coldly to the slaver. He turned to his men. "Help the girls and take this filth hostage. He has broken the king's law and will be dealt with as the law commands." His men nodded and quickly obeyed. They dragged the slaver, who was still too in-shock to notice his surroundings, up the stairs. When they reached the gate from which they had first stormed the castle, they found everyone else had returned. When one of his captains noticed him counting, he told him, "We lost nine men." The commander nodded, but upon searching the crowd, he frowned with deepening concern. He turned to the captain and asked, "Where is Ser Hugo?"


	2. Chapter 1

**A**ddym

They arrived at King's Landing a fortnight after they departed from the castle. The host of two hundred passed through the King's Gate at midday, and by late afternoon every man had found an inn and a good hot meal. He took his cargo with him as the innkeep showed him to his room. He dropped the sack in a corner and stared around the room. It was rather quaint, square in shape and about ten meters across. The bed lay in the far corner to the left from the doorway, and it smelled like fading perfume. He smiled. _This will do nicely,_ he thought as he unlaced his riding boots and removed his heavy roadware. He draped his cloak on a hook on the back of the door, and hung his heavy coat on a rack in another corner. He unclipped the armor he wore hidden underneath his coat and dropped it to the ground with a THUD and a tinkle of smaller clips falling just after the heavier bulk. He threw off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the bed naked, sighing at how little weight he now had to bear. He had not felt this good since before they took the slaver's keep.

The sun was still well above the western horizon when he entered a deep, dreamless sleep, and when he awoke it was well above the eastern. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he dragged himself out of his wonderfully soft bed and into the loosest of his undergarments. He clumped lazily and heavily down the stairs and into the dining room on the ground floor. Most of the men staying in the inn had left and started their day already, but every one of the men in his company remained, and looked just as dreamy and tired as he was. Breakfast was comprised of nicely browned chicken, simmered in onion and sprinkled with various spices, and simple scrambled eggs. It seemed to him more like lunch disguised as breakfast, but it did not matter, for flavor exploded into his mouth with every bite, having both the effect of putting him into more of a dream trance and waking him up, all at once. After he finished his meal, Addym went back upstairs and retrieved the rest of his belongings, including the sack, which was beginning to smell of something vile. He dressed in his nicest clothes for court and, after paying the innkeep for his stay, he struck out for the castle.

He arrived just before they shut doors for the day, slightly out of breath after his hurry. He was lucky today, it would seem, for only a few people were left to go before the king with their troubles. The man who was before His Grace now was speaking of troubles at his tavern, at least that was what Addym thought he was speaking of through his sniffling.

"And… and they… they smashed everything in… in the… in the cellars, a-a-and they," Addym tuned out the whining and thought he noticed the King staring off into nothing, likely wishing he was dead instead of listening to these whiny peasants. He hid it surprisingly well for such a seemingly incompetent man. When the tavern owner was finally done, the King issued that the man be given gold in compensation for his losses and ordered Janos Slynt to hunt down the men responsible for trashing the tavern. Addym stepped forward next, and an attendant of the court began to announce him as "The sellsword Addym…" but was cut off when the King shouted in his deep, slightly drunken voice, "I know who he is!" The attendant nodded obediently and stepped back quietly. Addym stepped forward, the large grey sack in hand, and bowed.

"Your Grace," he said respectfully, and dumped the contents of the sack on to the ground in front of him. The slaver's head rolled around in circles for a few moments before it came to rest face up, about a meter in front of him. "The slaver's keep has been taken, and all the slavers are dead, as you commanded." The King stared at the head, contemplating it for about a minute, then let out several deep, guttural guffaws. He leaned back in his throne and clapped his hands several times."GODS! But you're efficient! I sent that command out less than three weeks ago, did I not?" Jon Arryn, seated to the King's right, nodded solemnly. "Maybe I should make you the lord of keeping the peace in the realm or whatever the bloody position is called. I bet you'd have every criminal dead or at the wall within two cycles of the moon!" Addym smirked and replied, "Oh, I expect I'd do it in one, Your Grace." The King guffawed even louder. "I think I like you! Enough to have you stick around here with this sorry lot," the King gestured to the rest of the throne room. "How would you like to be Commander of the City Watch? I'm sure you'd do ten times the job Jonas Shit or whatever the hell his name is has done." Janos Slynt turned a very puzzling shade of purple and red at that comment, but impressively remained otherwise impassive to the King's slaughtering of his dignity. "It is an honor I am afraid I do not deserve, Your Grace," Addym replied coolly. Being Commander of the Gold Cloaks would be his own personal hell. He would be confined to the smelly, violent peasant streets of King's Landing, and would likely never see the country again before he was killed in some riot.

"Well," King Robert replied, finally having recovered his breath from all his laughing, "I think that you do deserve something. After all the shit you've done for me, even not even I'm too stupid to see that you have earned something for yourself. Jon!" he called to his Hand, "Give me the titles!" Jon Arryn nodded and handed the King a roll of parchment, which the King then unraveled and began reading.

"In the name of me, King of the Andals and Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms," as he read the titles given to the King, Addym pondered curiously as to what in seven hells they could be rewarding him with. "I hereby give you royal acknowledgment as to your services to me, the crown. As your reward for many years of loyal service, I grant you the title of Lord. You will be given the ancient holdfast called, in its time, the Crow's Crossing, and in more recent times, the Slaver's Keep. You may, of course, bestow upon it a new name, because both of those are shit and you would be laughed at for the rest of your days if you were Lord of the Crow's Crossing." King Robert stopped and chuckled to himself for a minute before continuing. "As a Lord, you will be required to choose a name for your house, whether it is whatever name you have now, if you have one, or one you just make up right here in these damned halls. You will also be required to choose a sigil for your house, to carry on your banners, and to strike fear into the hearts of men! Or laughter, if you choose something fucking stupid like a crowned boar."Addym shook his head at the thought of such a ridiculous sigil, and frankly at the whole idea that he was being made a lord. "Now," the King continued, "If you have any idea as to what your house shall be named, speak now, or meet with my council later, I don't honestly give a shit." Addym knew exactly what he was going to say. He had always dreamed of the day he had his own house, and had chosen his name long ago.

"Starhunter, Your Grace!" Addym shouted so the whole room could hear him. King Robert contemplated that for a moment, then said, "Very well then! Not half bad, Lord Starhunter. I think you're too smart to have ever been a sellsword. Seven hells, you could have served as Hand of the King in a different life. There might even be hope for you still. But piss on that, I think some congratulations are in order!" Everyone in the throne room clapped and cheered, and the King rose from his throne and came down the steps and shook Addym's hand. Clapping him on the back several times, the King said "That will be all for now. I've heard enough of the people's troubles for one day, now I need to go drink myself to sleep and forget all mine." The King bid them all half-hearted farewell and left for his chambers. Everyone else began to either leave or stand about uselessly. Jon Arryn walked down the stairs from his seat beside the throne and came up to Addym.

"The hundred men we sent to aid you in your mission, and their commander, Ser Hugo, what became of them," he asked quietly, though Addym could not tell if that was to keep it discreet or simply because of his old age. "Two of them died, several more were injured, and Ser Hugo himself sustained a sword through his left leg. The maester of the keep says the bone is split in two and will never fully heal. He will not be able to walk without aid ever again, and it is unlikely he will ever see melee combat again. Whether or not he will still be able to ride depends on how badly he is really injured, and how well it heals."

Jon Arryn nodded solemnly. After a long while, he said,"When you return to the holdfast, you may tell him, if you wish, that his services to the crown will no longer be required." Addym frowned, "Do you really mean that?" Jon Arryn shook his head. "I believe a man like Ser Hugo could be of much assistance to the crown. After all, he wasn't made a knight for nothing. But sadly the King will likely say that a cripple cannot serve the crown, so why waste the time to put the matter before him?" Now it was Addym's turn to nod solemnly. "I bid you good luck on your travels back to your new home," he said after another long pause. Addym nodded his thanks, and then the two went about their business. As he walked, it actually dawned on him that he was actually a lord now. He grinned the widest, stupidest grin he had ever done. He did not care what people thought of him at this moment in time. _Lord Addym Starhunter_, he thought cheerily to himself. It had a very nice ring to it.

He left the courtroom, smiling to himself, and upon exiting the castle he found that his way out was blocked by at least 20 men. The one in the center smirked and swaggered forward, walking as the self-entitled prick he likely was. He looked Addym dead in the eye and said loudly, "You stole my lordship." Addym kept a blank face and replied, "And how exactly did I do that?" That seemed to aggravate his oppressor. "I deserved that lordship. I've been a loyal servant to the King ever since I joined the City Watch. I was the one who quieted that riot last week, or don't you remember how I saved your sorry ass?" Addym had to smirk at that.

"A week ago I was riding back from the Slaver's Keep in the riverlands. You see, at the King's command, I stormed it and killed them all. I would have liked to see you there. I bet the King would have rewarded you handsomely for standing there, pissing your pants!" If this gold cloak hadn't been angry before, he certainly was now. "I would have killed TEN TIMES THE MEN YOU DID!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Addym replied cooly, "Ah, I see! So you would have killed slavers that weren't even there?" The man turned red with outrage. He turned to his companions, then looked back at Addym. "I've had enough of your clever tongue. Kill him! And bring me his clever little tongue so I can hang it around my neck and show everyone what happens to clever little fuckers like yourself!" The men, fellow gold cloaks, Addym assumed, drew their swords and moved towards him slowly.

"I would recommend you leave me alone, ser. You see, I've fought other people, like yourself actually, who thought they could kill me. It really is quite a tale, but I'm afraid I'm going to ruin it for you and let you know that they are all dead, and I'm not. And I quite intend on living for a good long while yet." The gold cloak looked like he was going to catch on fire. "KILL HIM! NOW! DO IT!" Some of them seemed to be having second thoughts about fighting him, but a few stupid ones still rushed at him. Addym drew his steel quickly and ducked the blow of the first man, slicing open his stomach while he stumbled to the side from the weight of his swing. As his insides spilled on to the ground, the second man swung at him. Addym brought his sword around and blocked it, and when the blades locked together at the hilts, he deftly drew his dagger from his belt and stabbed his opponent first in the knee, then drew it across his throat.

The third was rather fat, so he retreated to the steps that lay behind him. When the fat man pursued him, Addym simply kicked him back down and felt too sorry for the man to kill him. He cried out and clutched at his hand, which was at a very odd angle, and lay there whimpering as his fellow gold cloaks walked right passed him. "I'm warning you again, I'm bad news for men like you." They kept walking, so he decided that there were too many and bolted to his right, flying down the side stairs and running down one of the streets. He heard arrows whizz by overhead and he turned a corner, and heard great commotion behind him as the men gave chase. He turned left and right, ran up and down streets, but couldn't seem to lose them. He decided to shelter in a tavern to his right, and ducked in, flipping a coin from his belt pouch to the man at the bar, shouting "Just passing through!" He left the man looking extraordinarily baffled as he flew up the steps and all the way to the top floor. He heard the rattling of armor as the gold cloaks ran past, and heard faintly, "Fifty…to the man who…" and then a reply "Upstairs!" _Damnit!_ He thought, although he wasn't surprised that someone had given him up. He studied his surrounding, considering his options, when noticed the window hanging open. The jump to the next building over was too dangerous, but he had no other choice but to fight the men up here. He examined the fighting terrain, but with so many of them he knew he wouldn't stand a chance. He moved quickly over to the window, looked down, and ignored the horrific fall to the street below. He was steadying himself on the frame when he heard the door crash open with a shout of "THERE!" In a moment of what must have been pure insanity, he lept, pushing his legs harder than he had ever pushed them. He smashed into the side of the building, his fingers burning on the impact, but nonetheless, somehow, he found himself hanging on.

"You idiots! Shoot him!" _Oh, fuck me_, he thought frantically. He began swinging himself back and forth, several arrows bounced off of the building too close for his comfort. He swung harder, his arms burning now under the weight of his armor. He surged upwards and was able to catch his foot on the top of the building, and finally he pulled himself on to the roof. He fell on to his back, avoiding another volley of arrows, then jumped up and built up enough momentum to leap from rooftop to rooftop. He was making great progress when he remembered his horn, which he and his captains kept for signaling each other in times of combat. He blew it, waited, then blew it again, the steady OOOOOOOOO echoing around the streets of the city. He resumed jumping the rooftops for several minutes when he heard a reply. OOOOOOOOO! OOOOOOOOOO! And then a flaming arrow shot up high in to the sky, about three streets over from where he was. He began moving towards it, hoping that the rogue gold cloaks hadn't seen it too. He lept to the next building, but after landing and taking one step forward, the roof collapsed in below him. When he got up, he found a naked woman sitting in a naked man's lap, his face buried in her chest. She was moaning softly, but when he fell through they both looked at him, shocked and surprised, as he likely would have been if someone had fallen through his roof. He blinked the surprise and embarrassment out of his eyes as he casually said "Good day!" and scrambled out of the room, and then out of the building altogether.

The street where the arrow had gone up was only one over now, if he recalled correctly. He continued running towards it, hurrying when he heard the shouting of the gold cloaks nearby. He turned a corner and found his men, about thirty of them, and told them breathlessly what was happening and what his plan was. They nodded consent quickly and took their positions. He then walked out into the alley in front of where they were, and shouted, "Hey! You fools! Over here you slow, stupid little shits!" He heard what were likely the shouts of the man in charge, sounding furious. In a matter of minutes the men rounded the corner and one of them shouted, "There!" pointing right at him. "Here!" he agreed enthusiastically, smiling and waving. He then ran back down the street to where his men were hidden around the corner. When the rogue men rounded the corner, they all stopped in their tracks. Addym smirked and looked at his men, then back at his pursuers.

"Well now, if this isn't quite the turning of the tides!" he said smugly. "Kill them! Kill all of them!" came a shout from the rear of the gold cloak formation. Addym shook his head in disbelief and replied, "Alright boys! Have at 'em!" And with that the street was alive with the clash of steel on steel. He grabbed one man from behind and cut his throat with his dagger, and stabbed another through the chest as he came running at him. He noticed a fine shortsword strapped to this man's back, so he unclipped the sheath, strapped it to his waist, and went back to fighting. He threw one man down the street from the fighting and brought his sword down on his un-helmeted head. When he looked up, he saw more gold cloaks running towards them, but they seemed to be doing their job of keeping the peace, not trying to skewer him. "Keep your heads out of this, or I swear you won't have any heads left among you!" he shouted at them, and turned back to the battle, leaving them looking very perplexed. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. When finally he came face to face with this man who so desperately wanted Addym's title for himself. He charged full speed at Addym, and so he merely side-stepped and stuck his foot out, blocking the sword blow and tripping the man. He went flat on his stomach, and Addym strolled over to him, kicking his sword aside and rolling him over with his foot.

"You really aren't a good listener, are you? I told you what, two times? Three? To keep away from me, and now look! You've gone and gotten all your men killed!" The man's face was red with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me! Get on with it! You won! Now do it!" Addym tisked at him and said, "Kill you? I'm not going to kill a man who is already down and yielded." The man looked relieved. "No," Addym continued cooly, "I won't kill you, but you have betrayed your city watch brothers, so I will have you sent to the wall instead." The man's face drained of all color. "In fact," Addym said smiling, "They say the wind howls in your ears up there in the north. Well, since you don't seem to be such a good listener anyway, I'll do you a favor." He motioned four men over to hold him down as he drew his dagger, still dripping with blood. The man began to scream and beg. "NO! PLEASE! I swear I will go to the wall and serve the best anyone has ever served! I'm sorry I was jealous! That's all I was! I didn't really want to kill you! PLEASE!" Addym ignored him as he knelt down beside him. "Oh calm down! Like I said, you aren't a very good listener. And if you aren't going to listen to what people tell you, why do you need ears at all?" The man let out a bloodcurdling scream as Addym carved off his ears. There wasn't as much blood as he would have expected, but that did not concern him at all. He picked up the ears and studied them a moment. "Release him," he ordered his men, and they did. As soon as his hands were free the man grabbed at the holes in his head where his ears had been, still screaming. Addym tossed the ears on his lap and said, "Here. You can keep them as a reminder of what happens when you cross Lord Addym Starhunter." He emphasized the Lord. The man was whimpering at this point. "Do tell everyone to spread the word. I would hate to have to do this again." The man nodded slightly, still whimpering. Addym nodded, satisfied with his work, and his men grabbed the corpses of the six men he had lost in the brawl. He walked past the gold cloaks, who were still standing there, speechless, and patted each one on the back. "Good day lads!" He said cheerfully, and walked away.


End file.
